


You've Got Me on the Run

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:19:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Heard it from a friend who said that you've been messing around..." © G.Richrath<br/>GF for Ep.219-301</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Me on the Run

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my livejournal in 2008

_“I realize my love for you is strong_ _and I miss you here, now you’re gone._ _Is this the way it’s meant to be?_ _Always dreaming that you’re missing me.”_   _©J.E.Altberg_

   
      I always knew it would happen someday, like death and taxes or the ad campaign that was supposed to be a slam dunk and wound up slamming and dunking itself into the garbage can. It was inevitable.  
  
I didn’t do relationships. I was queer, for fuck sake, not a lesbian with a white picket fence and a dildo up my ass. Christ, what good was being queer—other than worshipping Armani, Prada, and the rest of the Deities of Divine Design—if you couldn’t fuck whenever, whoever, and wherever you wanted? I’d be damned if I had to apologize for who I was or who I did.  
  
      Actually, that last sentence is pretty funny considering dear St. Joan has me burning in hell forever. It’ll either be an “I told you so” for her or a dick limper for me to see whose version of happily ever after is the big hit in eternity.  
  
      From the beginning, I made sure he knew it was just a fuck _._ He wanted me and I wanted him. End of story. Motive and opportunity, supply and demand, all rolled into one package.I also made sure he understood there were no claims and no expectations. I didn’t do repeats. When I got what I wanted, it was over. I’d been “doing them, doing that” since he was a child _,_ for fuck sake!  
  
      I don’t understand, never _could_ understand why he persisted. I had nothing to give him. What the hell did he see in me? I didn’t even know who _me_ was.  
 _“And you make me talk. And you make me feel. And you make me show what I’m trying to conceal.  
                                                      __If I trust in you, would you let me down? Would you laugh at me, if I said I cared for you?” ©Andersson/Ulvaeus_

      It never mattered what I said or did. He always came back. He always stayed—until now. He finally woke up, as I knew he would, and decided he was fighting a losing battle, wasting his time with someone who didn’t deserve him but who needed him in order to make some fucking sense out of his life, who needed him to feel human, who needed him to _feel._  
  
      Why wouldn’t he look elsewhere for what I wouldn’t give him, what I _couldn’t_ give him? Violins and flowers? Not in a million fucking years! Nope, not me. Never would be. What you saw was what you got. I wasn’t going to change, not even for Justin. If he thought the fiddler could give him what he needed, then good for him. It was his choice. There were no chains around either of us. He was free to go and so was I. People change, they move on, they leave. Everyone does. But I had hoped....  
  
 _“Tell me, does he kiss like I used to kiss you? Does it feel the same when he calls your name?_  
                                                  _Somewhere deep inside, you must know I miss you.” ©Andersson/Ulvaeus_

       I never doubted he would see he could do better. I always knew he could. I knew it from that first night when, against everything I ever believed, I allowed him to stay. However, in my defense, it was the shit Anita— Fuck it. Not true. Her crap had nothing to do with it.  
  
       What was it about him that got under my skin, persuading me to bend and break the rules in the Brian Kinney Survival Guide? The answer was more important now than ever before. In his inimitable way, Justin told me that my sexual expertise wasn’t enough, that I wasn't enough. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t about the sex after all.  
  
       Even before Michael walked in that morning with his righteous _WTF_ look, I had my own questions about this random kid, standing under the street light like a gay man’s wet dream.  
  
 _"He was just seventeen. You know what I mean, And the way he looked was way beyond compare."_ _c.Lennon/McCartney_

       The annoyance and jealousy radiated off Mikey in waves because—he's always wanted me. In some fucked up way, he always will. I'm not saying that out of conceit or ego, although I have more than enough of both to go around. I say it because it’s the truth.  
  
       Our friendship has an undercurrent of “what if” simmering below the surface. On the few occasions when he flashed a surprising maturity, the "what if" bubbled above the surface. If I took one bump too many or consumed more than my usual share of liquor, I was recklessly tempted to give him what he wanted. Thank God logic and common sense overpowered absurdity and lunacy.  
  
       I don’t know why I always pulled back from the edge. I think it was because Mikey wanted, _wants_ his rose-colored glasses vision of me. That’s why nothing could ever happen between us, why nothing ever should. That's why if it was going to be anyone, it was going to be Justin. I needed an equal, someone who knew his own mind, who’d push me, open me up and still want me. Well, that blew up in my face, didn’t it?  
  
      You know how animals can tell when a storm is brewing, how they can sense it? That’s how I knew a storm was brewing with Justin. I sensed it. I inhaled the scent with every breath I took, even without Mikey's unsubtle clues and deceptively innocent questions.  
  
      When I came home from work and found Justin’s things gone, there was an emptiness in my gut and in the loft that hadn’t been there for two years. I hated the feeling. There’s a hole in my heart where he should be. He loved me and all he asked in return was to matter—to me.

 _"There's a hole in my heart that can only be filled by you._ _Should have known from the start I'd fall short with the things I do."_ _c.Bettencourt/Cherone_  
  
      He did what he could within the limited parameters I had coldly imposed and he succeeded. I know because I’m hurting, something I promised myself a long time ago I would never do. The irony is that because of my choice, the relationship that made me the weakest has also made me the strongest.  
  
                                                                                           


End file.
